


Drunk on You

by PoorMedea



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorMedea/pseuds/PoorMedea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this prompt: University AU! Drunk at a house party, Zayn kisses a boy (Harry!) for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk on You

The house seemed like an endless maze of rooms to Zayn’s clouded mind, pulsing with people and music, the bass line shaking the floor beneath him. Or maybe that was just the drink. Zayn wasn’t sure.

He also wasn’t sure where Louis had gone, or how many drinks he had already had, or even _which_ frat house he was currently in. He was fairly certain it wasn’t the one they had started out in, because he had a vague memory of being outside, stumbling down the darkened streets of frat row, and almost toppling into some bushes. The sound of Louis’ hyena laugh still reverberated in his ear. 

Zayn braced a hand on the wall, shaking his head to try and clear the fog, and looking dully down into the red plastic cup he still clutched in his hand. He was pretty sure he had started the night on beer, tapped from one of what seemed like an endless supply of kegs in the frat kitchen. But the liquid in his cup was now an alarming shade of blue, practically glowing in the dim light of the hallway.

He took a tentative sip and made a face. “Definitely not beer,” he muttered to himself.

“No, beer traditionally doesn’t come in that colour,” a laughing voice behind him said. 

Zayn turned slowly, shakily, to meet wide green eyes and an even wider smile, full pink lips stretched into a bright grin. “That’s the special punch, mate,” the boy offered with a wink. “Made it myself.”

Zayn looked down into his cup again, suddenly seeing two of them. “What’s in it?” 

If possible, the boy’s grin stretched wider, pressing dimples into his pink, rounded cheeks. “Can’t tell you that. House secret.”

Zayn peered at him blearily. “You’re not in this frat,” he accused. “You’re, like, fifteen.”

“Eighteen,” the boy laughed, reaching up to swipe his mess of brown curls out of his eyes, the loose tendrils damp with sweat. Zayn followed the movement with more interest that it perhaps warranted, watching long fingers card through brown locks.

“I should—“ he said vaguely, gesturing behind him. He was pretty sure he had been doing something when he started off down this endless hallway, weaving between bodies to make his way out of the main party. 

“Bathroom’s right behind you, mate,” the kid smirked. Zayn turned around, surprised, to realize he was standing next to an open door, the white tiled floor looking cool and inviting to his overheated mind. His bladder took that opportunity to reassert it’s desperation and he gulped, flashing the kid a grateful look before charging inside. 

When he came out, feeling much lighter but just as drunk, the kid was gone. Oh, well, he thought, looking around the mass of bodies, people dancing even in the cramped hallway, kissing and groping and sweating, lost in the booze and the beat.

Zayn threw himself back into their midst, feeling the press of bodies all around him, hot skin branding his own as he pushed through the crowd, hands reaching out to touch, sliding over him in desperate want. 

He should probably find Louis, he knew. 

But first, he needed another drink.

The main room of the house was packed, lights flashing, bodies heaving, music pounding. How the fuck was he supposed to find Louis in this mess, he wondered? If Louis was even still here. Wherever ‘here’ was. 

He blinked, his head swimming, as his eyes tried to make out faces in the crowd. 

“Here,” a voice breathed into his ear, a body suddenly pressing against his own. Another red cup appeared in his peripheral vision. 

Zayn turned his head, meeting dancing green eyes. “My speciality,” the kid reminded him, bringing the cup up to Zayn’s lips. He opened without thinking, tilting his head back as the kid tipped the liquid inside, a cool burn down his throat. An arm wrapped around his waist, drawing him tighter against the lean body at his back, all firm, hard lines and angles. 

Zayn let his head fall back against the kid’s shoulder, closing his eyes and feeling the alcohol thrum through him. 

The kid started to move, hips swaying against Zayn’s and Zayn moved with him, pressing back without thought. They pulsed to the beat and Zayn felt loose and free within the circle of the kid’s arms, melting back against his body and letting him do all the work.

Normally Zayn was the one leading, supporting another, smaller frame. Normally Zayn had soft curves and a sweet smell pressed against him, not hard muscles and boysweat. 

It was probably the booze buzzing in his system, but somehow Zayn didn’t mind the differences. The way the kid was taller than him, stronger than him, guiding Zayn where he wanted him to go.

Warm breath puffed over Zayn’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine, and then hot lips closed over his lobe, sucking lightly. A tongue flicked out to taste and Zayn groaned, low in his throat. 

“I’m Harry,” the deep, slow voice rumbled in his ear.

Zayn tipped his head to the side, blinking up at the kid, his flushed cheeks and his dark gaze. “Zayn.”

Harry gave him a downright filthy grin. “Hi, Zayn,” he murmured, his face closing in.

Zayn only had a second to realize what was happening before Harry’s lips were on his, hot and wet, sucking and deep and _good_ even at the awkward angle, his neck craned to reach.

Harry’s hands slid down his body, gripping tight to the points of his hips and holding him close, pressing the lengths of them together as they swayed to the beat, mouths moving languidly, tongues stroking wetly in the space between them.

Harry’s hands were large and firm, pinning him in place; his hips were narrow and sharp where they pressed against the swell of Zayn’s ass. His mouth was demanding and ruthless where it sucked kisses into Zayn’s own.

If this was what kissing a boy was like, Zayn thought vaguely, he’d have to do it more often.

__________________________

Zayn woke the next morning, miraculously in his own bed, with no idea how he got there, and a text from an unfamiliar number on his phone.

 _I’ve got other specialties, you know._ It said. _Come over again tonight and taste? xx_

Oh yeah, he was definitely doing this more often.


End file.
